V for Vignette
by dreamcloud1
Summary: After an unforgettable Fifth of November, seventeen year-old Vanessa Breigon writes her version of events down on paper. She recounts her life in the Shadow Gallery with V and Evey, all while rebelling against everything she's ever believed in. Yet what she also discovers about herself will change her life forever...
1. Prologue

**Hello everyone. So this is my new story, a second version of V for Vendetta, if you like. I've taken bits mainly from the film but I just finished the book a few days ago so yeah...I don't own anything, or anyone, apart from Vanessa. And some things may be inaccurate, but anyways.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Prologue_

_To be completely honest, I've never been the sort of person to record any sort of past experiences on a piece of paper. And I've certainly never been the sort of person that takes any sort of pleasure in telling anyone and everyone about them. I keep these memories in my head, where they belong. And whenever I find myself remembering one of them, sometimes even against my will, my memory is able to rewind, fast-forward, and play them. Then every detail comes into mind, clear and sharp, like a high-definition piece of video._

_Sometimes, though, I wish I could press Mute. Or even better, Stop. _

_But I can't._

_The reason why I'm even bothering to record this at all is not a matter of choice. It's more a matter of request from my psychiatrist Sarah, asking me to write down all the events that have occurred over this past year. Pause. Rewind. The 5__th__ of November, when the Parliament building collapsed. The train station. The Shadow Gallery. Evey. And above all, the man who started it all, the man who rescued me from the Fingermen, just as he did Evey._

_The man in the Guy Fawkes mask._

_V._

_Sarah (short blonde hair, hazel eyes, same white blouse and skirt), sat me down at a table and looked across at me with that 'special' sort of gaze that people like her have. The sort of gaze that you feel is always looking right into your soul, silently boring a hole right through you, scanning you for pieces of information they might find useful. A solution to help them find out what the hell is wrong with you._

"_You have a good memory, Vanessa." she said, scribbling something on that small pad of white paper she always carries round with her. "Perhaps you'd like to put it to good use."_

_I simply stared at her and shrugged. What was the point of writing if I could draw instead? With drawing, I didn't need to think up ideas, or where, or what, or who. I could just draw, and let the pencil come to life in my hand._

"_It may very well help to let go of your anxiety." Sarah continued, reaching into the drawer of her desk and pulling out a medium-sized red spiral-bound notebook. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a black ballpoint pen and placed it on top of the book. "You can draw in it, you can write about whatever you like. You never know, you might surprise yourself." She looked at me again. "You're always saying that you want to be an artist."_

_V always told me that I could be an artist. But I wasn't going to tell her that._

"_Nobody will ever read it." I said quietly, in an attempt to discourage her._

_Sarah nodded, slightly. "You don't have to let anyone read it if you don't want to, Vanessa." The barest hint of a smile played on her lips. "You could burn it, if you want to."_

_Yet another excuse to set fire to something. I smile slightly. V would have been pleased._

"_There you go." She flicks over another page of her notes and taps the side of her head with a smile. "It's all in there. You just have to figure it out."_

_I catch a glance of the blackly-printed words that show through the other side of the page. Patient: Vanessa Briegon. Age: 17. Suffers from: Dream Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Insomnia. I've read those words now too many times to count._

_For a moment, my gaze shifts to the red notebook lying on the desk._

_And at the same time, a silent resolve forms itself inside my head._

* * *

**Not sure if I should continue...or maybe I will...what did you think?**


	2. I

**I now present to you the first chapter, the start of Vanessa's story. The proper start. I wrote this part a while ago so am only publishing it now...*hangs head***

**Anyway, here you go...**

* * *

I

I remember the night it all started. Like every other November, the night was cold and windy; the trees tossing their branches up and down outside the window of my bedroom. We lived in a red-brick flat at the time, Mum and I, at number 23 East Street. It was small, but comfortable. It contained a bedroom each for my mother and I, as well as a kitchen, living room, and bathroom. My room was my haven. There was a loose floorboard under my bed which I could lift up and hide things.

I didn't know much about my dad. According to my mother (who worked as Lewis Prothero's 'prized' PA at Jordan Towers), he had left when I was two years old. I don't have any memory of him, but maybe it's better that way. It gives me freedom to remember the things that are important to me.

Like that particular night of November the 4th.

"And as we make sure that we all indeed remember, the upcoming fifth of November…." Chancellor Adam Sutler's voice droned out of the television, his face filling the whole screen. "This is to be a night that will go down in history…"

"As if we haven't heard all that before." I muttered. The man always found something to rant and rave about.

My mother shook her head at me. "You know that he's only doing what he has to, Vanessa" She reached for the remote and turned the volume a couple of notches up.

I didn't answer to that. It wasn't my mother's fault that her job put words in her mouth for her.

"You want to know what I think? You're listening to my show, so I assume that you do…"

I grabbed the remote and hit the mute button. "That's enough of that."

"What time is it?" I got up off the couch and looked at the clock. Eleven o'clock at night. I glanced at my reflection in the small mirror above the fireplace. Same green eyes, like cat's, same dark brown hair, long and straight. It was just enough of a reassurance to see the same girl staring back at me. The government hadn't changed that, at least. Not yet.

"Time you were in bed. And so was I." Mum yawned, getting to her feet, and coming over to give me a hug. "Goodnight, Ness."

"Night, Mum."

* * *

I'm not sure if I slept or not. I think I must have, but suddenly, I jerked awake. I listened. Was that…music?

I shook my head to wake myself up. It was. I could definitely hear it now; it was getting louder with every second. Classical music. And it seemed to be emitting from the loudspeakers on the street.

Stumbling out of bed and into the hallway, my mother's expression mirrored mine of shock and amazement. "What on earth's going on?"

As I opened the front door, I could see that we weren't the only ones on the street. Our neighbours, and others I had never met before spilled out onto the pavement to listen to the music. The sound of the music was almost deafening, when suddenly –

Screams split the air as the Old Bailey exploded.

My breath caught in my throat and I could only stare as the music reached another crescendo. I could practically feel the earth shake under my feet as the flames from the explosion reached into the night sky, as if attempting to devour the moon and the stars along with it. Fireworks began to shoot upwards into the air, while, along with everyone else, I stood, transfixed at the sight of them.

Especially when the fireworks shot upwards, forming a V in the sky.

In a strange sort of way, I found the whole process beautiful.

I carefully shoved open my bedroom window, trying not to make a sound as I first inched one leg out, then another. My mother was, hopefully, still asleep. I didn't know why, but for some reason, something was telling me to get out of the house for a while. An insistent voice in the back of my head overrode all the warnings and signs I had heard or seen over those past few months. Keep away. A yellow-coated curfew is now in effect. Out of order. Yes, I did know the rules, but they weren't necessarily ones that I wanted to obey.

I walked down the cold, grey London pavement, my senses on high alert as every shadow, every movement, threatened to engulf me. Part of me wondered how on earth I could be so reckless. There might be Fingermen waiting for me around the next corner, ready to grab me. The digits of my watch shone in the dark. Nearly five o'clock in the morning. Curfew wasn't lifted until another hour. I wasn't sure where I was going, or even why, but in that moment, I had never felt so alive. Not since–

"Watch where you're going, missy. We don't want no trespassers here."

The sound of that cool, husky voice rooted me to the spot in sudden terror. _Why had I been so stupid?_ I cursed, hardly daring to breathe.

Large hands grabbed my arm, pulling me round to face a bright beam of torchlight, shone straight into my eyes. "Well well, what have we here?"

"Probably a stray." They laughed then, with course, rough voices.

_Fingermen._ An icy feeling of fear washed over me. I knew exactly who, or what they were. And what they did to girls like me.

"Let me go." It took every ounce of my willpower to not scream in terror.

The man who had grabbed me now pinned both my hands behind my back. "You look familiar." His face came closer to mine, along with the almost overpowering scent of tobacco. "Ain't you Patricia's daughter? Think I've seen you round before."

"I–" I tried hard to conquer my fear. "Yes. That's me."

The other two men glanced at each other, as if uncertain of what to do next. I quickly decided to use this time to my advantage. "My mother is Lewis Prothero's personal assistant. If you do anything to me, they'll find out. And they won't be very happy with you. They'll have every one of you executed!"

"Oh, don't worry, darling." I suppressed a shudder as the taller of the other two men placed his hands on my waist, leaning in closer to whisper. "We won't harm you. We just want to teach you a lesson."

A blinding flash of adrenaline rushed through me. I kicked out at the man in front of me, at the same time using all my strength to twist out of the other one's grasp, and then hitting him in the face, breaking his nose with my hand. He gave a howl of pain. "You little _bitch!"_

I think I screamed then. And froze as I felt a hand over my mouth, and my arms being locked together with the iron grip of the third Fingerman. And I couldn't ignore the cold feeling of a metal _something_ pressed against my back. "Just do what we tell you, and nobody gets hurt."

And that was when I first saw him. Standing in the shadows, the white grin of the mask almost glowing in the darkness. Tall and upright.

I could feel him looking at me.

The voice came out of the shadows where he stood, before any of the Fingermen had the chance to turn around.

"I shall vanquish each and every one of you, and therefore will be valiant. For each of us has our own vendettas that take over our values and views, however this villainy is not one of them."

"What the bloody hell are you on about, pal?" asked the first Fingerman aggressively.

I saw _his_ black, gloved hands flash out on either side, in which he held a pair of sharp, silver swords.

"If I were each one of you, I would plan a final valediction." His voice hissed through the air, like snakes waiting to strike.

Suddenly, the air was a blur of silver flashes, a flapping blackness and a red, thick liquid that I knew was the men's blood. I pressed myself flat against the wall as I heard the screams of the Fingermen and ominous slashing and cracking sounds. And the heavy thuds as their bodies hit the ground.

Suddenly, there was silence. I carefully stood up, my legs shaking slightly, and looked at the masked man, who was calmly standing in front of me.

"Are you all right?" He sounded concerned.

I nodded, finding it hard to speak, trying hard not to look at the bodies of the dead men on the ground. "Who are you?"

"Who? Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask."

I couldn't help but feel that this wasn't the first time he had said that to someone. Instead, I could only stare at him.

"It's my very great pleasure to meet you." The masked man gave a slight bow and extended his gloved hand for me to shake. "You may call me V."

I tentatively shook his hand. "I'm Vanessa."

"Yes. Vee–nessa." V surveyed me for a moment, then murmured, "Strange. How very strange…"

"What's strange?" I asked him, thinking that _this,_ this whole meeting with him, was the strangest thing that had ever happened to me.

"It is strange that, not five hours ago, I met another young woman in the same position as yourself, called Evey. Cornered by Fingermen down a dark alley." He paused, as if thinking. "Where do you live? You should be getting home."

"Number 23 East Street." I said, stepping out into the light of the early morning, beside V. "I couldn't sleep after the fireworks and all the explosions last night, and I had to get out of the house."

"Ah yes, the grand orchestra. Accompanied by the finest sounds of 1812 Overture, by Tchaikovsky. Do you like music, Vanessa?"

_Did I like music?_ What was this, Twenty Questions?

I nodded. "Sure. Well, of course I do."

V seemed satisfied. "You are one of the few people in this country who appear to have any sense at all. There are many who simply do not appreciate the small wonders that London has to offer. Yet again, there is something terribly wrong with this country, is there not?"

Glancing up at the sky, I was alarmed to see that it had suddenly grown lighter. It also dawned on me that I hadn't thanked V for rescuing me. "I'd better be going home now. Don't want my mother reporting that I've been abducted by a man in a mask." I smiled slightly, in spite of myself. "And thank you, V, for what you did."

V looked as if he was smiling, too. "The pleasure, I can assure you, is all mine."

* * *

**Feel V to leave a review :D (do you see what I did there? Get it?) **


	3. II

**Well here we are, with the second chapter! It's a bit longer than the first but that's what free weekends are for...well, at least my free weekend...**

* * *

II

It was all over the radio and TV in the morning. The collapse of the Old Bailey was the work of a 'successful demolition'. And the fireworks just appeared to be an added bonus.

I nearly always know when people are lying. Especially when looking at the face of the female newsreader. Her eyes were blinking ten times faster than usual.

Thankfully, my mother seemed to know nothing about my escapade at five in the morning. I don't know what she would have done if she'd found out. The sun had risen, and I sat at the kitchen table eating a piece of buttered toast while she bustled around the kitchen, getting ready for work. It looked as if she'd be run off her feet, given the events of the previous night. Prothero was bound to bombard her with requests for endless cups of coffee. Knowing him, he'd stayed up the whole night along with uniformed officials trying to work out whodunnit.

"Right now, I'm off to work, so have a good day." Mum gave me a kiss on the cheek, then reached for her coat. "I'll be back around five thirty, all right?"

"Sounds good." I grinned, taking another bite of toast. Thank goodness it was the weekend and I could do whatever I wanted.

The front door shut, and I was alone in the flat. Solitude at last.

Try as I might, though, I couldn't stop my thoughts from drifting towards V. I remembered how he had stood shadowed by the darkness, watching my struggle with the Fingermen, before stepping in. How he had handled his weapons with such ease, his knives flashing through the air like silver lightening. How he calmly killed all three of the men, not turning so much as a hair as he watched them die.

But what I found most curious was why he wore a Guy Fawkes mask. And I knew it wasn't just because it was the fifth of November and all, there was something else in it. But what? Was he the hero or the villain? Or both?

For the rest of the day, I drifted aimlessly about the flat. I read a book, watched TV, called up one of my friends, even did some homework. I spent a good couple of hours drawing. It was wonderful to just draw what I wanted, without any instruction from my Art teacher, who didn't seem to like me very much. My friend Sally said it was just because I was better at drawing than she was. Even so, the clock beside the fireplace ticked maddeningly, as if reminding me that I was wasting my life with ever passing second.

Suddenly, I couldn't stand it anymore. I grabbed my jacket, phone and flat keys off the table and opened the front door, stepping out onto the street. Autumn leaves tossed and turned in the wind, a cool breeze blowing through the air. For one moment, I cast a quick glance down the street, towards the way I had walked only a few hours ago. A shiver ran through me at the memory.

Then I turned my back and walked the other way, towards Piccadilly Circus.

* * *

"That'll be five pounds." Steve, the sales assistant in Waterstone's Picadilly bookstore said to me. "Does your mum know that you'll have bought out the whole bloody bookshop by the time I turn sixty?"

I grinned as I found the five pounds and handed them over. Steve was just one of the reasons I came into Waterstone's to buy my books. An elderly man with a kind face, he had a great sense of humour and was always happy to help me look for books that I wanted. "Sure, Steve. I'm already planning to build my own

library with the vast collection of books I've bought from here over the years. Do feel free to stop by sometime and help me with my services."

Steve laughed as he handed me a brown paper bag containing _Wuthering Heights_. "I will if you'll bring me free cups of coffee and a plate of your mum's shortbread biscuits every half hour, Vanessa."

"Deal." I waved at him. "See you, Steve." Heading out the doorway, I laughed to myself.

Walking across to Piccadilly Circus, I made my way across the street and sat down on a wooden seat, opposite the shops and the huge digital billboard with a slogan beneath it saying, 'Strength Through Unity, Unity Through Faith.' Birds swooped in the sky, searching for crumbs below. A few other people were around; a family with two little children, and an elderly couple walking across the street. The massive screen was alive with colour, showcasing advertisements to passers-by.

Then, all at once, the screen went static.

I stared at it. Flashes of grey static and blank black flickered across it, on and off. Everyone else in view of the screen gazed curiously at it, as if their very gaze could put it right again. I could hear one man grumble, "What's wrong with the damn thing?"

Suddenly, the screen flashed into life again.

And there, on the screen, was V.

Sitting in front of a red backdrop of curtain, he addressed all of London as if he personally knew them all. A jolt went through my stomach as I stared at him, hardly believing what I was seeing.

"Good evening, London." His voice was serene. "Allow me first, to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of everyday routines."

"The bloke's a madman." The father of the family said in a low voice, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression….well, certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror."

As V spoke, I listened to his every word. One half of me was shocked, but the other half of me was intrigued.

"There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense." V carried on. "Fear got the best of you, and you turned to the High Chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it has forgotten."

I gasped in shock. _V_ was the one who blew up the Old Bailey? And to think that I had spoken to him less than twenty-four hours ago!

"So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I would suggest you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked." The dark holes in V's eyes mask seemed to scrutinize all of London, as if he could see deep into the souls of everyone, myself included, who were watching this broadcast.

"But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot."

The screen zapped into silence. But all that remained was a logo on the screen.

A red V with a circle around it.

Suddenly, I knew where the broadcast had come from. The same place where my mother worked. And, of course, I had no doubt that _something_ was happening over there.

_Mum._

Not giving it a second's thought, I was off, clutching my book and running as fast as I could towards Jordan Tower.

* * *

I raced up the stairs as fast as I could, fighting my way through the crowd of people surging downwards. Scanning left and right, I couldn't see any sign of her. Then again, she was probably on the upper floor, where her office was, helping Prothero. A uniformed guard came into view and I ducked, desperately hoping that he hadn't seen me.

Nearly there. I quickly slipped through the door that opened out onto the hallway of the fifth floor, where Mum's office was. Slowing my pace, I began to tread as quickly and quietly as I could down the corridor, keeping alert for any uniformed guards on the prowl. There was nobody around, as far as I could tell. I quickly ducked into a doorway of one of the offices, peering cautiously round the corner. But t_here, _on the wall were the posters of Lewis Prothero, which indicated that I'd reached Mum's office. Either she'd be in here with him and a group of security guards waiting until it all died down, or probably outside, away from the building. _Either way,_ I told myself, _I'll find her soon–_

"FREEZE!"

I dropped to the ground, hidden by the half-closed door as the shout of a man rang out. "Get your hands on your head! Do it now, or I'll shoot!"

Hardly daring to move, let alone breathe, I carefully inched forwards, trying to get a better view. And when I did, I almost stopped breathing.

V was standing still in the corridor, beside the elevator, his black gloved hands raised in the air, as another man pointed a gun at him.

"I must say, I am rather astonished by the response time of London's finest." V sounded completely unperturbed. "I didn't expect you to be so jolly on the spot."

Silently, I raised myself to my feet, unsure of what to do next, but also completely certain that I couldn't just sit there and do nothing. I looked around for something, anything I could lay my hands on that would be of any use, but nothing.

"We were here before you even got started. Bad luck, chum." the man said, aggressively.

Then, a movement down the end of the corridor caught my eye. A young woman quickly and quietly made her way towards V and the man with the gun. She tapped him on the shoulder, and as he spun round, she pepper-sprayed his face.

As the man shouted with pain, knocking the woman to the ground with the butt of his gun, I pulled myself upwards, running straight towards them. V whirled around and hit the man hard, letting him crumple to the ground, unconscious.

Not even a second passed before I spoke his name.

"V."

He turned around, regarding me with what I took for surprise and shock. "Vanessa." He seemed at a loss for words for a couple of seconds, before he spoke, more roughly. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you." I retorted, staring right back at him. "I came here to look for my mum. After I saw your broadcast. And…and, I just–" Suddenly, words failed me.

I think it was in that moment I realized that I now would never be able to find my mother in the crowd of people outside and go home, pretending all the while that everything was normal. I would have to live with the fact that I, Vanessa Breigon, played a part in these events, yet at the same time, didn't really do anything at all.

Yet at the same time, I couldn't stay here, waiting until they found me. They'd question me about what had happened, using kind words and phrases such as, 'We just want to help' and, 'Take your time' in order to strip me of every little bit of information that I knew about V.

Then, after they'd finished with me, they'd hunt him down. And kill him.

I knew that, in reality, I had only one choice left to make.

"What should we do?" I spoke in little more than a whisper, as V lifted the unconscious woman into his arms and quickly pressed the Down button for the elevator.

As the doors slid open, V only had time to make one comment.

"We get out of here."

* * *

**There you are...thoughts? Chapter III on its way as soon as I can (though I do have to contend with what they call 'school'...aaarrgh!)**


	4. III

**Hey everyone! Hope you're all still with me (and Vanessa, too) so here's the next part...**

* * *

To this day, I have no idea how on earth we made it out of Jordan Tower alive. I remember being terrified that the slightest wrong move would send a group of uniformed guards running after us, guns and black bags at the ready. They'd pull the black bag over the heads of both the unconscious woman and I, and haul us off to the interrogation/torture room before I could blink.

And as for V….I didn't even want to think about what they would do to him.

I remember being hustled by V through grey alleyways, down a length of crumbling stone steps, and into a long tunnel, all the while carrying the woman along with him. All the while, I was looking over my shoulder, feeling that at any minute, the dark shadows of trees and buildings would come to life and spring at us.

I lost count of how long it was before suddenly, I was standing in the middle of a large stone room. There were no windows, I noticed. The light that did illuminate the room was from the chandeliers, hung from the ceiling. But the most unusual things was that the whole room was like a museum. My gaze flicked around the room, trying to take everything in. A large wooden bookshelf stood in one corner, almost overflowing with the amount of books piled in it. Medium-sized marble statues and wooden ornaments were placed in nearly every corner. Large oil paintings A red Persian rug lay in the centre of the room.

"Welcome to my home." V turned towards me, making a small sweeping gesture with his hand. "I call it the Shadow Gallery."

"You _live_ here?" I tentatively took a few steps around the room, forgetting just for a moment the situation I/we were in. "How did you get all this stuff?"

The tone of V's voice was mysterious. "By and by. You could say that I borrowed it and forgot to give it back."

"But how did–"

V shook his head at me, indicating that this wasn't the time for questions, and walked towards a large stone archway, which I presumed to be the hall. He was gone only a moment, then reappeared, without the woman. He had probably taken her to lie down somewhere.

"Do sit down." His voice was comforting. "I assume that we have much to talk about."

In an instant, all the memories came rushing back to me. V on the giant TV screen. Fighting my way through the crowd of people at Jordan Towers. Watching V fight the man with the gun. The last time I saw my mother, as she left for work, telling me to have a good day.

Mum.

I had this sudden overwhelming urge to cry. Would I ever see her again? I pictured her, frantic with worry because she was home, but I was nowhere to be found. She'd probably guess that I had seen the broadcast, and gone to look for her, but would think that I had been either kidnapped, or shot and killed by the 'terrorist'.

I had to go home.

"Please–" My throat constricted. "V–I need to go home."

V said nothing for a couple of seconds, then slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid that that would not be wise, Vanessa."

"What?" I stared at him, shocked.

"It would be folly to let you go now, after what has happened. They will be looking for all three of us, and I can assure that whatever the outcome would be, it would not be good."

"But–" I said desperately, though a sinking feeling in my stomach told me that V was right. "I need to get a message to my mother, tell her that I'm OK. She'll be worried about me, I need to tell her what's happened, where I am–"

"Vanessa." The tone of V's voice stopped me short. "At this present state, there is simply nothing you can do." His voice sounded sorrowful. "I'm very sorry."

"But–" I floundered, before suddenly remembering that I still had my phone with me, in my jacket pocket. My phone! I could call my mother! I quickly felt about for my phone in the pockets.

Both of them were empty.

And I came to a sudden, crushing realization that since my phone (and keys) had probably fallen out of the pockets when I was at Jordan Tower, and I had lost the two and only items that guaranteed me any sort of contact with the outside world, V was right. There was nothing I could do except sit back and watch the world crumble around me.

"When will I get to go back home?" I asked quietly, knowing full well that I wouldn't be at all surprised if the answer was never.

V sighed. "I am afraid that I know little more about that than you do."

"And so you expect me to just _stay_ here?" I asked, incredulously. "For God knows how long?"

He didn't say anything, just nodded.

I didn't wait for him to say anything more to me. Instead, I strode from the room, my head held high, my eyes starting to fill with tears.

* * *

It was about an hour later that I began to hear voices emitting from the main 'living room'. For the last hour or so, I had been alternating between fits of crying and from trying to stop myself from smashing one of V's breakable possessions in a fit of anger. Uncurling from my position from where I had been lying on a single bed in a medium-sized stone room, I made my way across the room and quietly began creeping along the hallway.

"God, what have I done?" The woman's voice sounded faint, but full of disbelief. "I maced that detective, why did I do that?"

"You did what you thought was right." V sounded calm, unconcerned.

"Oh no, I shouldn't have done that." I was at the end of the hallway now and could see the two of them, the woman's back to me. "I must have been out of my mind."

"Is that what you really think, or is that what they want you to think?" V asked her, as if cynically.

Before I could make my way back down the hallway, V looked past the woman and saw me. "Ah, it looks as though we have a visitor."

The woman turned round and saw me, her expression changing to one of surprise and shock as she stared at me. Somehow, I suddenly knew who she was without her having to tell me.

"You're Evey, aren't you?"

She nodded, not taking her eyes off me. "Who are you?"

"I'm Vanessa."

She glanced at V accusingly. "Did you drag her into all of this? She's a teenager, for God's sake! She shouldn't even be here!"

"It's not his fault!" I shook my head wildly. "I came here because I knew they'd be looking for me, all three of us now for that matter, and I didn't have any other choice to make!" My eyes sought the two dark holes in V's mask, letting him know that I knew that he had been right all along. "Neither did you."

Evey shook her head, turning away from me, walking quickly towards the archway. "I think I should go."

"May I ask where?" V replied.

"Home. I have to go home." Evey said, a trace of panic evident in her voice.

"Did you not just hear what Vanessa said?" V asked her. "They are out looking for all three of us, and if they know who you were, they would certainly know where you live."

"I could stay with a friend." she replied.

"Evey, don't you realize that if you show up now, they'll most likely interrogate and then torture you for information?" I asked quietly, trying not to imagine uniformed soldiers pulling a black bag over my mother's head, then dragging her off to be executed, even though I was ninety-nine percent sure that that wouldn't happen. "And then, they'll kill you."

"Shut up!" she yelled at me, before turning to V. "You should have left me alone!" Why didn't you just leave me alone?"

The silence that followed after the loud slam of the door was deafening.

* * *

That night, I had a very restless sleep. I tossed and turned, frequently imagining the shouts and heavy treads of Fingermen, or the wailing of sirens, signaling that we were all done for.

I opened my eyes, and knew it was the morning because the air seemed lighter somehow. Maybe because I had actually absorbed the events of the day before, letting it all sink in.

Now all I had to do was to work out a plan of how to get the hell out of there.

Dressed in a pair of black leggings and grey T-shirt that I had found in one of the cupboards, I made my way towards the door to the kitchen area, and found V, dressed in an apron, frying something at the stove. He was also wearing what looked like pink rubber gloves.

Before I could say anything, he turned round and saw me. "Hello, Vanessa." I could feel that he was smiling at me. "Please, make yourself at home."

"Hello, V." I slowly made my way over to the kitchen table and sat down. "Thanks."

"Did you have a good sleep?" he asked, turning back to what looked like eggs and toast in the frying pan.

"I–" But I cut myself off as I found myself looking at V's hands.

And I realized that he wasn't wearing gloves at all.

His hands were horribly burned and scarred. They were mottled pink and white, as if they had been covered with candle wax that hadn't been fully scraped off again.

"What happened to your hands?" I got up out of the chair and went over to him, looking up at him, gently touching his left hand. "You should go to hospital and get them treated."

"There was a fire, long ago." He lifted up the frying pan and brought it over to the table, putting what I recognized as eggy in a basket onto my plate. "It doesn't matter, not now. Do feel free to help yourself." He nodded towards my plate.

"I'm so sorry, V." I cut into the toast and egg and took a bite. "This is delicious, by the way."

"I'm glad." He turned back to the frying pan, humming to himself.

"V?"

The sound of Evey's voice made the both of us look up. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, glancing at both of us.

"Ah, bonjour, mademoiselle." V greeted her.

"I just want to apologize for my reaction last night. I understand what you did for me, and I am grateful." She shifted her gaze towards me. "And Vanessa, sorry for shouting at you, too."

I gave her a slight smile and shrugged. "That's OK."

"Your hands…" Evey's expression was one of concern as she, like me, noticed V's hands.

V pulled his black gloves on. "That's better. Now, would you care for a cup of tea?"

Evey gratefully sat down at the table, next to me, raising her eyebrows slightly, as if to ask, _What happened?_

_Fire_, I mouthed back at her.

She nodded, biting into the toast that V served her. "I haven't had real butter since I was a little girl! Where did you get it?"

"Government supply train." V said, carelessly.

"You stole this from Chancellor Sutler?" She sounded shocked.

"Evey, it's not _stealing_." I remembered what V had told me yesterday. "It's more…permanently borrowing."

I could hear V's quiet laughter, muffled slightly by his mask.

"Can I ask about what you said on the telly?" Evey asked V. "Did you mean it?"

"Every word." V folded his arms and looked at both of us.

"Even the bit about blowing up Parliament?" I asked, staring at him. "Do you think it'll really make this country a better place?"

"And if anyone does show up, Creedy will black-bag every one of them!" Evey put her toast down on her plate.

It's funny how now, I look back on that moment with a much better understanding of what V's next words really meant. Back then, I was naïve enough to think that even just blowing up the Parliament building would change everything.

But now, I know that in order for his plan to work, he depended on the rest of us. He relied on ordinary, everyday people to stand up and fight for what they thought was right.

Like Evey and I.

And ever since then, what he next said has been replaying over in my mind to this day.

"People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people."

* * *

**Sooo...what did you think? Please review, they are like oxygen to me...well, not quite but you know what I mean! :)**


	5. IV

**Hey everyone! Sorry it's taken me a while to update, but a little thing called school has kept me very busy, but holidays start in a few days, so yay! Anyway, hope that this chapter lives up to your expectations (or exceeds them, whichever) so, here you go…**

* * *

IV

"Now, Vanessa, what would you like to do?"

I stared round the large 'living room' (I couldn't really call it that, as it looked more like a museum than actual living space), then at V. "Well, I don't know." I paused for a few seconds, thinking. "What do you usually do?"

"Many things, my dear." V crossed the room to where a black leather sofa stood opposite a flat-screen TV. Then, almost shyly, he asked, "Would you like to watch television?"

I nodded, smiling at him as I made for the sofa and sat down. "I'd love to. As long as there's something good on. Daytime TV usually sucks."

V flicked the set on, and sat next to me. The set blared into life, showing that the news was on.

"…have the latest news on the terrorist attack at Jordan Towers, where not twenty-four hours ago, an attack occurred. The terrorist, who is identified as a man wearing a Guy Fawkes mask with the code name V, began the attack when, after breaking into Jordan Towers, he launched a broadcast across the whole of London. It was thought that, shortly after, the terrorist was shot and killed, however, new information has been released that he is still alive. "

"Let's find something else to watch." V lifted the remote to change the channel, but I stopped him. "Wait." And stared at the TV.

Because there on the screen behind the newsreader, was a photo of me.

Me.

Vanessa Breigon.

"It is believed that the terrorist, when escaping from Jordan Towers, has allegedly kidnapped sixteen year-old Vanessa Breigon. The teenager, daughter of Patricia Breigon, who works at the Towers as Lewis Prothero's personal assistant was seen at Waterstone's bookshop, at least half an hour before her disappearance."

Every fibre of my being had gone numb with shock. I gazed at the photo of me. It was taken about three months ago, and showed my mother and I, taken when we went out to dinner for her birthday. Our arms round each other, smiling at the camera. It seemed like years and years ago.

"If you know the whereabouts of Vanessa, or have any information regarding her disappearance, please call the number of the police station at the bottom of the screen, as her family is desperate for news."

The screen zapped into silence. I seemed to have lost the inability to speak.

"Oh my God."

V turned round to glance at me. "I can assure you, my child, that this is not as bad as you may think."

I stared at him in indignation. "Not as bad as I may think? V–" I turned and gestured towards the now-silent TV screen, "–they think I've been bloody _kidnapped!_"

'What's going on?" Evey emerged from the hallway, toweling her hair dry.

"They think I've being kept as hostage by V!" I gasped, as suddenly, a memory flashed into my head. What was it I had said to V, after he had saved me that night? _I'd better be going home now. Don't want my mother reporting that I've been abducted by a man in a mask. _"What will they do to me, and to all of us, if they find that we're here?"

"Vanessa." V's voice pulled me back to reality. "I can guarantee you that right now, there is a lot worse that could happen. You're safe here. I very highly doubt that they will be able to find this place. And if they do, I can assure you that you would be the least of my worries."

"But what about my mother?" I whispered, getting a mental image of her receiving a phone call that told her that I was presumed to be dead, sobbing uncontrollably with grief.

"At least she seems to know you're still alive." Evey said, in a soft tone. "Think yourself lucky that you even have a mother. I lost both my parents when I was younger."

"Oh Evey, I'm so sorry."

She shrugged, smiled slightly, and shook her head. "Don't be."

* * *

Later that afternoon, both Evey and I found that we were alone (well, not technically) in the Shadow Gallery. V had gone out to God knows where, stating that he had some 'unfinished business' to take care of. After a few minutes of drifting aimlessly about, wondering what to do, I decided to look round for some pencil and paper, and see if I could draw one of V's sculptures dotted round the room. And while I was stuck here, what else would I be able to do?

But I didn't find myself drawing a sculpture after all. The pencil seemed to have a life of its own, moving across the paper as if quickly trying to capture every single detail of my mother's face before it all vanished from memory. I drew her hair, repeatedly dyed a golden-brown colour every few months to hide the grey that seeped out of her roots. I drew her blue eyes that smiled out of the paper at me, the faint wrinkled lines on her forehead and mouth (laughter lines, as she called them), and the curve of her shoulders.

I didn't even realize that Evey was standing behind me, until she spoke. "That's so good."

I turned round in surprise, just the tiniest but pleased. "Thanks. It's my mother."

Evey studied the picture. "You look just like her."

"Apart from her eyes. I have my dad's eyes." Or so I had been told. "And the wrinkles, and the grey hair."

Evey laughed, coming to sit beside me. "But she looks really young. She doesn't have grey hair!"

"She does! She dyes it every few months or so. I'm surprised that Prothero doesn't just buy her as many bottles of hair dye as she wants and be done with it." We were both laughing.

Evey sighed. "I wish that both my parents were still alive. I'd give anything to have them here one last time."

"What…happened to them, if you don't mind me asking?" I choose my words carefully.

She sighed, and it was a few moments before she answered. "They became political, after my brother died at St Mary's."

_St Mary's._ The name sent a chill down my spine. I remember learning about it in History last year at school.

"They enlisted me to help hand out flyers as more and more people were fighting and getting killed every day." she continued. "One night, they came for us. My mother told me to hide under the bed, then the next second, they burst into the room and zipped a black bag over her head. I couldn't help it, then. I screamed, and they found me."

I listened in a horrified silence, hardly daring to say, _And then what?_

"I never saw them again, after that." Evey finished, staring into space as if relieving the memory. "It was like those black bags erased them from the face of the earth."

"Evey–" I didn't know what else to say.

She turned to look at the drawing again. "But you've still got your mother, Vanessa. And I just want to tell you that, when we eventually get out of here, you have to promise me that you'll make the most of every moment with her."

I nodded. "Promise."

Even I couldn't think that far just yet, but Evey seemed satisfied. And the two of us passed the time talking and drawing, until we heard the front door open, and knew that V was back.

* * *

I had a good sleep that night. Well, it was better than a couple of nights ago. My mother was alive and well, and didn't appear to be in any danger. She seemed to know that I was still alive. I hoped. I pinned the drawing of her by my bed, up against the wall. It was as if she was watching over me, making sure that I was all right.

My eyes flew open the next morning as I heard a slashing sound coming from the main room. Like there was fighting going on. But that couldn't be, unless…

"_V!"_

I bolted to the main doorway of the living room. But even I wasn't quite prepared for the sight that awaited me there.

The sound of sword-fighting was coming from both a black-and-white movie playing on the TV, and from V himself. Or rather, his weapons. He lunged repeatedly towards a stationary suit of armor, his sword flashing in the air as he whirled round it, just like the hero on the screen on the television. Slowing down, he paused for breath.

"Can I have a go?"

He turned and look at me with what I sensed was startled surprise. "Vanessa!" Clearing his throat, he went on. "I hope I didn't wake you?"

I shook my head, though I knew that he could tell I was lying. "Is that a real sword?"

"As real as this suit of armor here." He tapped it with the sword. "Would you like to try?"

I took the sword from him, surprised at how heavy and dangerous it was. "How do you _use_ this thing?" Tentatively, I waved it round. "You make it look so easy."

"It takes practice, my child. Lots of practice." He nodded at me. "Perhaps you could try after breakfast."

I smiled, handing him back the sword. "For now, I'll leave it to the professionals."

V bowed, in a slightly mocking way. "Now, Vanessa, let me show you how it's done."

I sat on the sofa and watched while he effortlessly feinted and lunged towards and away from the suit of armor, whirling around and slashing at the air. Then, with one graceful movement, he beheaded the suit of armor, the head rolling across the ground, and coming to rest at Evey's feet.

"Oh…I hope I didn't wake you." For the first time, V sounded embarrassed.

I covered my mouth with my hand to stop myself from laughing. He obviously hadn't seen _that_ one coming, at any rate. Like myself, Evey thought that V had been fighting for real.

"My favourite film, _The Counte Of Monte Cristo._" He looked fondly at the screen. "Gets me every time."

"What's it about? I've never seen it." I remarked.

"Does it have a happy ending?" Evey asked.

"Would you like to see it?" V asked us, looking from Evey to me. "And yes, it does indeed have a happy ending. As only celluloid can deliver."

I nodded. "I like those kinds of films."

"Okay." Evey replied. Then, with a slight grin, she added, "But put the sword away."

* * *

**That was a bit of a filler, but some action is on the way, so there's one way to keep you in suspense! XD**


	6. V

**Here we are again! I understand that this chapter is somewhat longer than the other ones, but it makes up for a longer wait! So I shall bore you no longer with meaningless author's notes, but here we go…**

* * *

V

As the final sounds of music died away, and the credits began to roll, V turned to look at Evey, sitting next to him on the sofa. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "But it made me feel sorry for Mercedes."

"Why?" V asked, as if he couldn't comprehend why anyone should have different views to him about his favourite film.

"Because he cared more about revenge than he did about her." Evey replied, still gazing at the screen.

"But Evey, she gets the guy at the end, and they all live happily ever after." I said, twisting from my position on the floor to look round at her in disbelief. "What's not to love?"

Suddenly, a news report flashed up on the screen, interrupting the feel-good atmosphere in the room. "A man known to the entire nation as, 'The Voice Of London…'

"Wait. What's this?" Evey leaned forward in her seat.

"…passed away last night from evident heart failure."

"She's lying." Evey said flatly, watching the screen.

"How do you know?" V asked her, as if intently.

"Because she always blinks a lot when she does a story she knows isn't true." I say, focusing my attention on the screen as the newsreader spoke on. I couldn't believe it. Lewis Prothero, dead. Yet, I had a feeling that there was _something _there that wasn't right. And it wasn't a very nice feeling, either.

"Lewis, you will be sorely missed." The screen zapped into silence as V pressed Mute.

"V." There was a slight edge to Evey's voice. "Yesterday, I couldn't find my ID. You didn't take it, did you?"

With a jolt, I remembered how yesterday, Evey had begun tipping things out of her purse, looking for her lost ID card. She had asked me if I'd seen it. I'd replied in the negative but said I would look out for it.

"Would you prefer a lie, or the truth?" V asked evenly.

"You took it, didn't you?" I turned to stare at V, incredulously, with a tiny chill of horror making its way down my spine as I put two and two together. With the ID card stolen, and Lewis Prothero dead, it could only mean one thing. "And you killed him."

Evey's expression of shock and horror mirrored mine. "Oh my God! You–" Words seemed to fail her. "Are you going to kill me, or Vanessa?"

"Or my mum?" I whispered in dread, realizing that since she was (or had been) Prothero's assistant, there was nothing stopping V from committing another murder now.

V shook his head. "I would never dream of harming either of you, and especially not your mother, Vanessa."

The tight band of worry that seemed continuously wrapped around my chest loosened slightly, making it easier for me to breathe.

But V spoke on, a hard edge creeping into his voice. "However, it is not Prothero that will serve this country next, but justice. And because justice goes hand-in-hand with violence, this simply leaves me no other option. Needless to say, violence can be used for good. There's no court in this country for men like Prothero."

And that was the moment that sealed the deal for me. I decided that there was no other option for me, but to get the hell out of there.

* * *

A few weeks or so later, I found myself walking quickly down the cold, stone pavement of Chester Street, as the moon was just starting to shine out from the clouds.

For the past few weeks, I had kept up the pretense that everything was normal. Neither Evey or V appeared to notice anything, but at times, I had my suspicions about V. But if he did notice that something didn't seem right, he made no attempt to question me.

On the night before I left the Shadow Gallery, I sat on my bed, trying to figure out what I was actually going to do when I got out of there. Where I was going to go. Home was out of the question. I didn't even dare to contemplate what would happen if I suddenly showed up at Number 23, East Street. I dug in the inside pockets of my jacket and found a twenty-pound note, left over from that day about town. Hmm. Just enough money for a train fare to get me out of town, and up towards Nottingham, where Aunt Jo, Mum's older sister lived. I liked Aunt Jo. She'd often ring up Mum and I to tell us her news, and never had anything bad to say about anybody. When I was little, we'd go over to her house to stay, and she'd always tell me stories about when she and Mum were girls. She encouraged me to draw pictures, too, and I'd always spend hours on end drawing things I found around her house.

I felt pretty confident that I'd be pretty safe. Nobody would try looking for me there.

And there was something else that slid out of the inside of my jacket and onto the floor. The copy of _Wuthering Heights_ that I'd bought from the bookstore.

I stared at it, then picked it up and flicked to the few blank pages at the back. I had no idea where V kept his writing paper, and didn't want to raise his suspicions by doing so. Holding the paper down with my sleeve, disguising my handwriting, I wrote in untidy capitals:

_YOUR DAUGHTER IS SAFE, ALIVE AND WELL. THIS IS FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. KEEP IN MIND THAT YOUR OWN SAFETY DEPENDS ON YOUR ACTIONS. _

I ripped that piece of paper lengthwise and tucked it carefully away.

On the second piece of paper, in my own handwriting, I wrote:

_Dear V and Evey,_

_I know that you've done all you can to protect me, and I can't thank you enough. I'll always be grateful, especially to you, V. But the time has come for me to leave. I won't be going home, but somewhere else entirely, where they won't find me. I know where I'm going, and what I have to do to get there, so don't worry about me._

_Thanks for everything, honestly._

– _Vanessa_

I left my goodbye note on the kitchen table, carefully pulled the door open, not making a sound, and left the Shadow Gallery behind, for what I thought would be forever.

* * *

I slumped on a bench at St Pancras railway station, and tried to get a hold of myself. Nobody had recognized me yet, which was a good sign. I'd pulled my hood up, and tucked my hair into the back of my jacket so it looked shorter, and messed it round to look like I had a side-fringe. Now, all I had to do was wait for the train to come in. But I found myself wondering, how long had it been since all this started? It couldn't have been more than a couple of months. Christmas had come and gone, and I had barely even noticed. Well, that was a first.

I'd managed to deliver the note to my mother without catching anyone's attention. It had been a question of casually walking past the house in my 'disguise' (though it took all my willpower not to turn back) and then quickly posting the letter through the mailbox. And now, here I was, about to go to Nottingham with no idea what awaited me there, and trying not to look as though I was a teenage runaway.

"You getting on, or what?"

I jumped up, startled by the voice of the conductor. "Yes, thank you. Sorry, I was daydreaming."

"Kids these days. Well, don't fall asleep on that train, now." He chuckled, then walked away, whistling to himself.

Once on the train, I collapsed in a seat by the window, and tried to clear my head. Try as I might, though, I couldn't help but think of V and Evey, and how they might react when they found out that I had left. I wasn't sure.

"Excuse me, can I sit here?"

I glanced up at the sound of the voice, and found myself looking at a boy of about my age, maybe a little older with wavy dark brown hair and light blue eyes, and carrying a black backpack. He was wearing jeans and a green IRFU rugby top, and was looking at me questioningly. It dawned on me a second later that he was waiting for me to answer the question.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead." I nodded at the space opposite me.

The boy sat down with a grateful smile. "Thanks." I noticed his accent was Irish, presumably from a northern area. "Headed anywhere special?"

"To my aunt's house. For a surprise visit." _It certainly would be a surprise,_ I thought. "You?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Well, me parents are going to meet me at Nottingham, but that's as far as I know." He stared out the window at the scenery flashing past. "We haven't been in England very long, only a few months. We came here because–" He suddenly cut himself off, as if he had said too much, then looked at me with a brief smile. "Anyway, what's your name?"

_What was my name?_ I quickly cast my mind around for a name, and it landed on–

"Evey. I'm Evey."

"I'm Patrick O'Connor. Nice to meet you, Evey." I smiled and shook his outstretched hand, noticing that as I did, felt a small weight lift from my shoulders.

* * *

For an hour, Patrick and I talked together. He and his parents had arrived in London from Belfast about three months ago, in order to escape an outburst of political rebellion. From what he told me, I gathered that the Irish government didn't seem to be happy with the way things were run. They had reinstated detention camps, and had started up 're-education centers' for children whose parents had been either black-bagged and put into the camps, or executed. Every person aged eighteen and over was forced to vote once a year for members of government, and were threatened with torture if they didn't do so. The demand for health care had risen due to suspicious outbreaks of influenza or other diseases, but a lack of medical services meant that many people died as a result.

I told him my history, too, but only the bits that I wanted him to hear. I told him about living in London, mixing fact with fiction when I felt it necessary to do so. I told him about my school and my home, and bits that I knew about what was going on in England. No worse than Belfast really, I told him, and left it at that.

I didn't notice that the train had slowed down until it stopped. Surprised, I checked my watch. "Are we there already?"

Patrick shook his head. "No. It's only been an hour, and we're supposed to be on this train for forty-six more minutes."

I peered out the window. "Think we've broken down?"

He shrugged. "Probably. Still, hopefully we won't be stuck here for very long."

Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackled into life outside our compartment. But the voice that spoke wasn't our driver. It was another man's, a deep voice with a threatening edge to it, sending chills down my spine.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. First, let me say that I am terribly sorry to interrupt your journey." The voice didn't sound sorry at all. "However, there is at present a matter which is of utmost importance. I advise you to listen carefully, as it requires your full attention."

The whole train was so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

"May I remind you of the punishment which awaits any man or woman who is associated with criminal activity?" the voice went on, seemingly pleasantly but coldly. "Any act which involves protesting against our Government using violence, explosives, persuasion techniques, or association with terrorism is punishable by death by firing squad. We have been regretfully informed that tonight, on this very train, there are some here who have become defiant towards our government, and as such, would not listen to these warnings. Therefore, this leaves us no other option but to find and kill you. You have been warned."

Patrick's face had gone white. A tingle of horror was seeping across my whole body, paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move. I heard the heavy tread of boots outside our door, in the corridor.

_How did they find me?_

Patrick moved. Slowly, not making a sound, he got onto the floor and under his seat, motioning for me to do the same. I did as quickly as I could, listening for any sign that the black, uniformed officials stationed outside the door would come bursting in. The floorboards creaked as the guard outside our door walked slowly away from us, down to the other end of the train.

_You have to get out of here. Now. Before they find you,_ a small voice in my head whispered. If I used the Emergency Exit now, no doubt they would hear and find me. Desperately, I cast my gaze around, praying for something, anything that would help.

And then I saw it. A circular hole in the floor, with a wooden built-in ring attached to it, reading, 'Twist To Open'. The hole looked big enough for both Patrick and I to climb out of. I signaled to Patrick, and pointed to the hole. He nodded and crawled forward, placing both his hands on the ring. I pulled at it, with all my might, and up it came to reveal a hole, leading to the tracks below. The night air breeze blew through the hole. Our key to the outside world.

The heavy tread of the boots outside had come considerably closer. No doubt they were interrogating people, shaking them aggressively, maybe even using a Pocket Taser to prove that they were serious. I hurriedly lowered myself down onto the tracks, motioning for Patrick to hurry up. He grabbed his backpack and jumped.

And without a backward glance, we were off and running, away from the train, and towards the possibility of being able to survive for another day.

* * *

"Where are we?" I asked breathlessly, once we had stopped running. I had had to stop myself from looking over my shoulder every five seconds, expecting to see guards chasing after us. Expecting to have my head zipped into a black bag, to feel myself being dragged away somewhere, to feel for a millisecond the bullets from a gun entering my body.

"Oxford." Patrick answered for me, as we walked together up a side street. "We'll have to find somewhere to stay and then decide what to do in the morning."

I agreed bleakly, as I tried to untangle my thoughts, trying to make sense of what had happened so far. Evey. V. My mother. The Shadow Gallery. The goodbye letter I had written. Meeting Patrick.

And most troubling of all, what had happened on the train.

"God, Evey, I can't believe that we got out of there." Patrick exclaimed if not a little shakily, from his seat on the battered-looking sofa in a cheap motel room, at Hadden's Inn.

My legs had only stopped feeling like water an hour ago. "What I don't understand is how they got onto the train." I ran a hand through my hair. "And how they knew that I was–"

I stopped myself short, but it was too late. I could see Patrick's brain working as he puts the pieces together. Finally, he spoke, in a quiet voice.

"They're looking for you?"

A jolt went through my body as I nodded, realizing that I couldn't keep my secret any longer.

"Yeah." I sighed, managing to look him in the face. He held my gaze for several seconds, then I found that I can't look at him any longer. I buried my face in my hands.

"Patrick, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault!" I cried, my voice slightly muffled. The words came out in a rush. "I'm not Evey. I'm Vanessa. Vanessa Breigon. And everyone, including my mother, thinks that I've been abducted by a terrorist, and they're all out looking for me, and I know for a fact that what happened on that train was because of me, and I'm the reason why we've ended up in this mess, and–" I cut myself off.

"Vanessa." Something in Patrick's voice made me lift my head up to look at him. A touch of sorrow crossed his face. "It's not your fault. If anything, it's mine."

"What would you have to do with it?" I choked out.

Patrick's voice became soft.

"Because I know for a fact that they weren't looking for you on that train, Vanessa. They were looking for me."

* * *

**Wow, bet you didn't see that one coming! Or did you? Thoughts? Reviews? Anything? :D PS. I'm on holiday for three weeks, so in between the bouts of holiday homework (whyyy?) I'll do my best to get another chapter up!**


	7. VI

**Hey guys! Sorry for the long(ish) wait but here's the next chapter! I've been quite busy these holidays as well as suffering bouts of non-motivation, but I've managed to pull myself together and write this part. So I'll just stop talking now and let you read. :D**

* * *

VI

This is what Patrick tells me. It was because of his story that I didn't sleep very well that night, perhaps at all. I can remember nearly every word. I thought about what he had told me, and knew that he was in just as deep as I was.

Patrick, and his parents, were freedom fighters. His father was a graduate from Oxford and was a journalist, his mother had been homeschooled and worked as a waitress. After they got married, they moved to an ex-council flat in the middle of Belfast.

It was only a matter of years after Patrick was born, when the war started.

Patrick told me how one night, he woke up to find flyers posted everywhere in their street, advertising strict government policies. There were advertisements on television, reminding everyone of the latest rules and regulations, not without threatening people with torture or execution if the rules weren't obeyed.

He remembered how once, when he was about five years old, his parents had rushed into the house, dragging a large box filled with food, medicine, thin blankets and a generator behind them. They quickly bolted the door behind them, instructing Patrick to keep quiet. The lights were turned out, the curtains drawn, the house silent, except for the wail of sirens outside. Patrick and his parents huddled underneath the dining room table, his mother holding him tightly, his father tensed up, as if ready to hear the door bursting open, and uniformed men thundering into the house. For a whole week, they lived like this, dragging a single mattress under the table, and living off what was in the big box of supplies, until one morning, Patrick's father pulled the curtain ever so slightly, and saw the last black van driving away.

His father had given a long sigh of relief and hugged both his wife and Patrick, saying how lucky they were not to have been black-bagged and taken away. He said that God must have been on their side, and that was how they managed to survive the raid.

Little did they know at the time, that they were the only ones in the street who had survived.

Patrick remembered how his entire class had been forced to watch a live, public hanging one day at school. His teacher told them that the man who was executed was a 'ho-mo-sex-ual'. Patrick didn't know what that meant. In fact, he didn't know what any of it meant, until he saw the man's lifeless body dangling on the end of the rope, swaying slightly in the wind.

It seemed that at seven years old, it was never too late to learn what the head called, 'a few life lessons'.

As Patrick grew up, the wars between the government and the rebels raged on. People were beaten, Tasered, interrogated, tortured and killed in protests that broke out all over the place, especially in Belfast. His parents would have whispered, hurried discussions that stopped whenever he came into the room. But, of course, he wasn't oblivious to what was going on. It took a lot of time before he could convince his parents to let him join up. At last, at fourteen, he joined the ranks.

One night, Patrick was at home with his father, sitting at the window and keeping watch along the street, when he heard the back door slam, and his mother hurried into the room. Calmly and quietly, she informed them that they had to leave the country. The Hao family two doors down from them had been taken away in one of those black vans; a Chinese family with two little girls, both under the age of six. And she knew that it was only a matter of time before they got taken away, too.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Patrick and his family were on the plane from Belfast to London. For three months, they had lived here, trying to keep a low profile. Nobody took a second glance at them. But then, a couple of months ago, they saw V's televised speech on the news that night, and knew that this was their calling. And if V was indeed the one who destroyed the Old Bailey, then that was just the start. They had travelled up to Nottingham the day before I met Patrick on the train, intent on spreading the message around. When he and I were travelling, he was to join them at Nottingham to plan out the next move. Destroying the Galleries Of Justice Museum.

Evidently, the explosives he had been hiding in his backpack seemed to have let him down. And it seemed that that was how the Fingermen had known, on the train that night, who they were up against.

"What are you going to do now?"

Patrick ran a hand through his dark hair and looked at me. "What do ye mean? Whether to go to Nottingham or London?"

I nodded, casting a glance around the small motel room. "I have to go back to London." _For V. And Evey._

He slowly shook his head. "I don't know, Vanessa. If I go to Nottingham, there's a chance that me parents might have been taken away. But if I go to London, they'll be likely be looking for the rest of us!" He looked at me, an unsettled expression on his face.

"You have to do what you think is right." I said quietly, wishing that I could say something, anything, to make the situation better.

For a few moments, he thought about it. I said nothing, watching the clock on the wall as the seconds ticked by. Finally, he raised his head, and looked at me again. "I'll go to Nottingham on the train. Me parents may even still be alive. I'll find them, and tell them what happened, and then…" He frowned. "Well, I don't know. We'll have to think of a new plan."

My gaze flickered to his unopened backpack. "What about that?"

"Might go and throw them on a heap somewhere. That would be a grand display." A faint smile crossed his face. "What will you do when you get back to London? They still think that you're missing?"

"Yeah. But I know what I'm going to do." _Go back to the Shadow Gallery. Tell V and Evey all about it. Watch as V kills more people._ "But if you ever feel the need to come to London, then…" My voice trailed off.

Without warning, Patrick suddenly took my hand. "Thanks for everything, Vanessa."

I gave him a brief smile. "See you when the war's over."

* * *

When I arrived back to London that afternoon, once more disguising myself as best I could, I was afraid that someone would recognize me. My stomach had been without food for what I calculated to be seventeen hours and fifteen minutes, and it was just starting to rain as I hurried down the stone steps and into the tunnel that would take me towards the Shadow Gallery. As my footsteps echoed in the dimly-lit tunnel, all I could think about was seeing V again, having my stomach filled, having a shower, going to bed.

I carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside, finding myself once again, in the main living room. "V?" I half whispered, for some reason thinking madly that maybe he'd been taken, outnumbered at last. "V?"

Then I saw him. He was sitting on the sofa watching a TV program, but quickly rose to stand when he saw me, the surprise in his voice evident. "Vanessa." He crossed the room towards me. "I thought you'd left."

"I just–I have to tell you–" My voice faltered. I looked up at the ceiling and saw the room begin to spin. The lights from the ceiling seemed to shine more brightly, enveloping me in a white light; the sound from the TV muted. "About what happened on the train, I mean….they nearly found me, but we escaped….."

And then, everything went black.

When I came to, I found myself lying on my bed. In my bedroom at the Shadow Gallery, with the drawing I had done of my mother still pinned on the wall. But that wasn't the only thing I noticed. The chest of drawers over in the corner appeared to have something in them. Carefully raising myself off the bed, I was surprised to see that all my clothes were there, neatly folded. My toothbrush, hairbrush and everything else were placed on top of a desk that I had never seen before, and even – _oh my God_ – my old stuffed bear that I'd had since I was little, called Teddy. The only plausible explanation was that V had somehow broken into my room and got all my stuff for me. I wouldn't put it past him. He was a master in that department.

I winced, and touched a slight lump on my head from where I had fallen. It hurt. Hopefully V had a first-aid kit.

After I had had a quick shower and got dressed, I ventured down the hallway, towards the main room. My head whirled. I had a million questions to ask V. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen Evey since I had arrived back. She was probably asleep. When I saw her next, I'd tell here everything. She would understand. After all, she'd had to escape from them as well –

"Good morning, Vanessa. Do you feel better?"

I jumped, my head turning towards the sound of V's voice. He was dressed in his usual black attire, standing beside the sofa where half a dozen books were lying on the coffee table.

"Yeah, I do, thanks." I gazed at him, unsure where to start. "Where's Evey?"

"Gone." V said simply, meeting my gaze.

I was speechless, trying to put my thoughts into words. "What do you mean, gone?"

V spoke. "She has left of her own free will, and left in the middle of carrying out a mission to seek revenge on Bishop Lilliman." There was a trace of something in his voice, which I couldn't quite place. Anger? Or hurt?

Before I could say anything more, V gestured towards me. "I guarantee that we have much to talk about, Vanessa, so why don't we talk over French toast and a cup of coffee?"

The mention of food made my mouth start watering. Eagerly, I nodded. "I'd like that. And by the way, thanks for getting my stuff for me."

The dark eye holes in V's mask seemed to smile at me. "You're most welcome, my dear."

Between scarfing down a plate of hot French toast as though I hadn't eaten for years, rather than a day, and drinking a cup of hot coffee, I told V everything. How I had written and delivered the note to my mother, how I had disguised myself, how I had met Patrick on the train, then how the train had stopped and both Patrick and I had had a narrow escape. I recount everything that Patrick had told me, including how he had decided to go to Nottingham, to meet his parents there and continue with the rebellion. When I had finished talking, V didn't say anything for several long moments, as though he was trying to make sense of it all.

Then, it was his turn to talk.

When both he and Evey had found me gone, Evey had panicked. She had wanted to go and look for me, and he had had to reassure her that there was no danger. He knew that I would come back sometime (and, I thought with satisfaction, here I was). So they busied themselves with the next stage, which was Bishop Lilliman's murder. Evey was to play the role of a young girl, who was to be sent to the Bishop, who, being a paedophile, would think that she was an object to sexually abuse. It seemed as though Evey had told the Bishop that V was coming to kill him; halfway through, she panicked and ran away, he presumed, to the house of a man named Gordon Deitrich, Evey's boss and friend.

So, after laying a single rose next to the Bishop's body, V had broken into my house to get my clothes, then had come back here, awaiting my return.

There was something on my mind, troubling me. Something that I had wanted to know for a while, but was too scared to ask about. Evidently, V saw.

"What's wrong?"

I shook my head. "I want to ask you something, but I know it's a very personal matter. You don't have to tell me."

V inclined his mask. "Go on."

"What happened to you at Larkhill?" The words were out before I could stop them, barely above a whisper.

V sat still for a moment, gazing at something in the distance that only he could see. As if he was recalling an unwelcome memory, summoned from the past by my one question.

Then, he spoke, turning his gaze fully towards me. "I will tell you, Vanessa, not because you asked me, but because, in a way, you are very much like myself. We both strive for the same goals; for freedom, but also for truth and justice. Nobody else in your position could have been through what you have, and still have enough strength and courage to carry on. And these are truly great qualities to exist in a person."

I swore that I could see the dark eye holes in his mask glimmer, as if there was _something_ behind there, looking right into the very depths of my soul.

"However, I must warn you, that what I am about to tell you is not for the faint-hearted. There is no reason as to why, or how these events have happened. There is only truth."

And then, V told me everything he can about Larkhill, beginning with the experiments. The only thing I could do is listen, unable to do or say anything to make the telling of the story any more bearable.

"Her name was Delia Surridge. Doctor Delia Surridge, one of the main people at Larkhill responsible for the experimentations on me. She tested a group of us with something called Batch Five, a type of artificial hormone injection. After a while, I could remember nothing about my past. Nothing about my true identity. Like a robot." V gave a bitter laugh. "I could feel nothing, but even so, I took notice of everything around me. Doctor Surridge said that my personality was magnetic, that my mind was warped. Over time, the experimentation gave me increased strength and reflexes, and an expanded mental capacity that I indeed used to my advantage. All of the other prisoners died, but I was the sole survivor. The man from Room Five."

I listened, in a fascinated horror, as V told me about his 'gardening project'. How, along with growing Violet Carson roses and crops for the camp officials, he managed to stealthily create explosives out of ammonia-based fertilizer, arranging them in geometric patterns on the cell floor. Then, he told me what happened on the night of November the Fifth, after he detonated the explosives, setting the whole camp ablaze. As he spoke, I saw the same things he saw that night, heard the things he heard. The sound of the blast that shattered the windows. The smell of burning, ash and horror. The terrified screams of the camp officials.

I saw the man from Room Five, a dark silhouette emerging from the orange flames that burned behind him. He looked at Delia Surridge as she cowered from the flames; this woman who had used him as a scientific experiment. And in the midst of the flames that burned and scarred their way along his body, the heat and the ash, and the hatred he felt towards those who, in some ways, had damaged him beyond repair, he screamed, lifting his arms up as power surged into his veins.

Oh, he would find a way to get revenge on them for what they did to him. Now, it seemed that he very nearly had.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

**OK, well that was a bit darker than I'd set out for, but maybe that's a good thing? What did you think of Patrick's story? Reviews are always welcome (but please don't flame me. Even though that was what V did at Larkhill). But that's V - what did you expect? Next part up as soon as I can!**


	8. VII

**Hey everyone! I'm SO sorry that this has taken so long to upload, but I've had a lot of bouts of non-motivation plus school, but anyway here you are, hope you're still with me (and Vanessa)!**

**VII**

Inside the Shadow Gallery, days turned into weeks. And weeks turned into months. There had been no communication whatsoever from Evey, and it seemed as if V had finally accepted that she wasn't coming back.

The first time I read Valerie's letter, I nearly cried. V had shown it to me after he had told me about what had happened to him at Larkhill. I read those words over and over again until I knew the letter off by heart. V showed me her portrait, a movie poster for _The Salt Flats_, adorned with lit candles, and a heap of red roses. Violet Carsons.

"That's why you leave them next to the bodies of your victims. For Valerie." It was not a question, but a statement.

"The very same reason." V answered.

"Did you love her?"

V was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, "I didn't know her. But at the same time, I did love her. With all my heart."

I thought about what Valerie had said, about how we all have one inch of ourselves that is the only thing in the world worth having. I thought about it again and again, and knew that she was right.

On the days that stretched into endlessness, I drew pictures. I read. I watched some of V's DVD's with him, the two of us having good–humoured arguments about the movie in question.

But I found myself watching V more often that usual. I noticed that whenever he thought I wasn't looking, he would seem agitated. He would pace the floor, back and forth, so that it made me nervous just watching him. He seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Something that I didn't know about, but at the same time, I had a certain feeling that it was big. And dangerous, too. Well, _hell._

One evening, V and I were sitting in the main room, in comfortable silence. V was reading (or maybe just pretending to read) one of his many books, and I was drawing. For some reason, the pencil now seemed to draw things for me, instead of the other way around. On paper, I had captured the Shadow Gallery, Patrick and Evey. But tonight….

"What are you thinking about, Vanessa?"

I glanced over at V. "Why do you want to know? I'm not thinking about anything in particular."

A sigh emitted from the depths of his mask. "You always have a look of deep concentration on your face when you draw. Tonight, perhaps, more than usual."

I glanced down at my picture, and it was then when I realized what was bothering me.

"V," I hesitated. "Why do you always wear a mask?"

Several seconds of extremely tense silence passed before V spoke again.

"Are you sure that you really want to know?"

I sighed. "V, I'm sixteen. Not six."

He chucked quietly. "I thought you might say that. I know you too well." He certainly did.

"You never allow anyone else to see what's behind your mask." I said, directing him back to the question. "I can see you looking at me, sometimes. And Evey. When you think we're busy doing something else."

"But who said that you need eyes to see with?" He turned to glance at me, the dark eye holes in his mask blank. "For all you know, I may have none."

I gazed steadily back at him, knowing that I may have believed him if it weren't for the fact that sometimes, I could see _something_ behind his mask glimmer at me, right were his eyes were supposed to be. "You're lying."

"Vanessa, listen to me." His voice was full of a quiet sort of desperation. "There is indeed a face beneath this mask, but it isn't mine. It never has been mine since that fateful night at Larkhill."

I understood what he was saying to me, but at the same time, something still didn't make sense.

"You say your face isn't yours. But how much of your identity is the mask, and how much is the real you?" I paused for a few seconds, thinking. "You said that you couldn't remember anything about your previous life at Larkhill, but you cover that up by changing your whole character so that your character completely matches your mask. You've worn your mask for so long that you've forgotten practically everything about yourself."

I knew that he knew that I had got him there. He said nothing for a moment, as though he was quietly mulling over what I had said. As I looked at him, I saw no terrorist, not the man from Room Five, not the dangerous villain who could kill with a single slash of his sword. The only person I saw was V, as himself.

I stood up and crossed the room towards him, my now-finished drawing in my hand. "I know who's really leading the rebellion. And they're not a terrorist. They're this guy here." I handed the sheet of paper over to him.

I could still see V staring at the picture that I had drawn of him as I shut the living room door behind me. Standing tall in his cloak and mask, with the outline of the 'V' symbol behind him.

* * *

The television blared into life as, two days later, I sat on the sofa, a glass of water in my hand. Gordon Dietrich's new talk show was about to be on, and according to the latest reviews, it would be the 'talk of the century'.

_I would have thought that there would have been better things to talk about,_ I thought wryly, as Gordon's smiling face filled the screen. _Like a so-called 'terrorist' at large, for instance._

"May I join you, Vanessa?"

I glanced up to see V standing beside the sofa, the face behind his mask seeming to smile down at me. After what I had said to him the other night, he didn't seem to be any different, but he appeared to have thought about it a lot. "This may surprise you, but I actually do enjoy watching television."

I laughed. "Sure. This is supposed to be a pretty good show."

"We've got an extraordinary show for you tonight." Gordon said, welcoming his viewers as V sat down beside me. "You're not going to believe it, in fact, I don't think I do. Will you please give a very warm welcome to our very own Chancellor, Adam Sutler!"

My eyes widened in shock as a man, who was obviously portraying the Chancellor, stepped onto the stage. A jolt ran through me as the audience applauded, the screen shifting to half a dozen men pointing guns at them. _Bloody hell._

"Chancellor, I understand you've been under tremendous strain with all this terrorist business lately," Gordon Detritch continued, as a group of show girls brought a tray over to him. "Warm milk. I understand you have a glass every night?"

"Since I was a boy." the 'Chancellor' replied. "But you're wrong, Mr Detrich. The terrorist was never a serious concern." The camera zoomed in, under the table, as, with a jolt, I realized that I was looking straight at V's mask. "The terrorist has been neutralized." With a bang, the Chancellor's pipe exploded, and Gordon leapt up, in artificial shock. "My God, look! The terrorist!"

I gagged in shock, the water spraying out of my mouth, as 'V' on the screen, began to be chased by the guards with guns and the showgirls, the action sped up, and cartoon music and sound-effects playing so it appeared comical. As 'V' on the screen was unmasked, the mask came away to reveal a second Chancellor Adam Sutler, who launched himself at the first 'Chancellor' to fight him. And as the curtain fell, and as Gordon Dietrich smiled blankly at the camera, the audience _laughed._

A sound to my right caught my attention, and it was then that I realized that V was laughing, too. Or rather, chuckling to himself as if he was the only person who understood the joke.

"What's so funny?" I knew my voice sounded shocked, but I was past caring. "Why did he _do_ that?"

V turned his gaze towards me. "Oh, let them laugh, just for once. I do feel sorry for the poor Chancellor, having to watch all that especially when he seems unable to keep the terrorist attacks neutralized." He made quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

"But what if they come after Gordon?" I pressed. Suddenly, a horrifying realization gripped me. "Oh V, what if Evey's till there, and they come after them?"

"I've thought of this long before you have." V answered slowy. "And I can tell you this, Vanessa, that I know it won't be too far away. But I'll certainly be ready when they do."

* * *

It was sometime between the middle of the night and early morning when I woke up, suddenly, gasping for breath. I'd had a nightmare. I had dreamed that V had arrived back to the Shadow Gallery from business elsewhere, and that after I'd run towards him, he'd pulled off his mask to reveal the face of Adam Sutler, somehow managing to chain my hands and feet together so that I couldn't go anywhere. In Gordon Dietrich's voice, he'd called out, "May I remind you that terrorism is punishable by death by firing squad?", before zipping a black bag tightly over my head, drowning out my scream of fear.

I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep for a while after that, so instead, I pulled on my clothes, and dragged a brush through my hair. I crept along the hallway and through the main room, trying not to attract V's attention. I fumbled with the latch on the front door, relieved when it swung silently open, and stood at the top of the stairs leading into the tunnel, the night air cool on my face.

It was the first time I had set foot outside the Shadow Gallery since the train escapade. Remembering that day, I thought of Patrick. Ever since then, I had sometimes lain awake at night, wondering where he was, what he was doing now. I hoped that he and his parents had managed to escape capture. Lost in thought as I made my way down the pavement, it was the sound of a van rapidly approaching that made me break out of my reverie. I darted into the shadows of a nearby alleyway, turning to stone, hardly daring to breathe.

The van slowed, fortunately passing my hiding spot, but stopped up the street a little way. I crouched down, crept behind a nearby column, listening to the slamming of doors as the occupants got out. If I listened hard enough, I could just make out what they were saying.

"Any luck finding him, Creedy?" one of the voices asks. I can see the glint of a cigar as he lights up.

"Not so far," the man named Creedy replies, "but hopefully we'll have some leads soon. As far as I know, there's been no new activity, but I guarantee that there'll be more soon enough."

_So they're still trying to get V,_ I thought. _Thought they would have given up by now. __He's too fast, too smart and too clever for them._

"What's the story again?" The first man took a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke away. "He's one of those political activists, am I right?"

Creedy snorted. "Something like that. If blowing up a building is called being a political activist, then I guess so."

Blowing up a building? V had blown up the Statue Of Justice, it was true, but wasn't that old news?

The first man laughed. "Hard to believe what we're facing in this country, isn't it? What was his name?"

Now, I was thoroughly confused. How could this man not know of V, who was known throughout the police force of London as a terrorist, kidnapper and murderer?

"Oh God, I don't know." Creedy paused. "The name's Peter, or something like that. No, Patrick. Patrick O'Connor. That's the one. Escaped off a train going to Nottingham, believed to now be in London."

My legs were rooted the ground in disbelief. They were talking about Patrick, who was here? In London?

"Best get going." The first man threw his cigar on the ground, and stamped on it with his shoe. "We have that bloody report for Sutler first thing in the morning, and God only knows what he's going to think of it."

I watched as the van drove away, round a corner, and it was only then that I allowed myself to think about all I had heard. Patrick was here, in London. That could only mean that he and his parents had had to make a run for it, or else they had been taken away, and he had escaped. I made my way quickly down the street, keeping to the shadowed areas. I had to find Patrick. And soon. I didn't know where he was, but–

A sudden movement caught my attention and I jumped, my senses now on high alert. I turned round, and saw that it was only a door banging in the wind. It was a green door that led into one of several old houses that had been condemned for demolition for ages.

I was about to turn around and continue walking, this time back to the Shadow Gallery, but then I realized something. _There was no wind._

A combination of fear and adrenaline rushed through me. Cautiously, I crept up to the door, getting ready to make a bolt for it if someone tried to grab me. Hardly breathing, I inched the door open slowly, and peered through the crack between the door and the frame, my heart pounding.

"Is the war over yet?" The whisper came from the other side of the door, accompanied by a dry chuckle.

Then, a pair of startlingly familiar blue eyes locked on mine.

"_Patrick?"_

* * *

**What did you think? It's a bit of a filler, but the conversation between V and Vanessa was my favourite scene to write. Keep those reviews coming guys, and exams are upon me at the moment but I'll try and upload as soon as possible. I love you all!**


End file.
